


Suburgatory

by theoriginalicecreamqueen



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Suburbia, Suburgatory AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoriginalicecreamqueen/pseuds/theoriginalicecreamqueen
Summary: Stiles Stilinski loves his life in New York City, but when a simple mistake gets out of control, his father takes a new job in the suburbs. Living in Beacon Hills is his worst nightmare. Everyone in town is a stepford copy, his father is the new sheriff, and he learned enough from his pack to recognize that the neighbors across the street - and his father's best friend's relatives - are definitely not human. What else is a supernatural-smart big city boy supposed to do other than figure out exactly what is going on with the Hales?





	1. Prologue

Not for the first time, Noah Stilinski wished he could have died in place of his wife. Claudia would have handled his absence so much better than Noah was handling hers. If she was alive instead of him, Noah was sure that she wouldn’t be staring at their son from the other side of a one-way glass looking into an NYPD interrogation room.

 

He tried his hardest with Stiles, but somewhere he’d gone seriously wrong. It felt like every word out of Stiles mouth was a lie lately. His 16 year old son was going out at all hours of the night to god only knew where, and he didn’t know why. Even Scott was tied up in whatever mess Stiles had gotten himself involved in, and Scott McCall was the definition of a good kid until the start of their sophomore year. It was then all this mess had started from both the boys, and Noah had enough of it.

 

They were about to be Juniors, and Stiles needed to be getting serious about his future. The kid was too bright to get in his own way. He’d always had such big dreams and college, and the ever-changing career path he was sure to completely dominate. Something that, had this arrest gone through right at the start of his most important year in high school, would have been over before it began.

 

Stiles had been such a good kid before this mess, a better son than Noah really deserved. He was kind, thoughtful, and so damn smart it hurt. After his mom died, Stiles had even taken over a lot of the household responsibilities for them. He still did the groceries shopping, cooking, laundry, and anything else Noah needed, even as everything else had started to slip. Noah had been letting all these thing the kid did go on for too long as an excuse for Stiles still having a handle on whatever was wrong.

 

This was the last straw. He didn’t care what excuse Stiles came up with after this. Noah had barely been able to keep Ethan and Aiden’s guardian from pressing charges. If it wasn’t for Peter… no, Noah wasn’t going down that road. Stiles wasn’t going to prison, and he was going to be the hell out of whatever all this was within the week.

 

Noah wished he knew how all of this began. He knew when, but the details never followed. Ever since that night in Central Park when the boys first snuck out to go look for the the Jane Doe whose body they’d only managed to find half of, Stiles had become deeply involved in… something. Stiles’s false promise that he would be in bed by 11 was the first of what became a major pattern in their lives. He lied about where he was going, who he was going to be with, and even who he was becoming.

 

Because the son he and Claudia raised? He wouldn’t do something like this, or any of the other random crap Stiles had gotten involved in. The old Stiles never lied to him, but the version of Stiles his son had become over the past year did. He was probably drinking, doing drugs, having unprotected sex, or - if Noah was being honest after tonight - involved in gang activities. Hell, it was probably some sort of combination in a stupid attempt at teenage debauchery.

 

Noah been lying to himself as much as Stiles had been apparently, but he wasn’t having it anymore, not from either of them.

 

He heaved a sigh, willing himself to leave the safety of the his hideout and face his teenage son. He didn’t feel ready, but Stiles needed to get out of the precinct quickly now things were sorted. He’d barely managed to fix this, but something told him Stiles wasn’t going to care when he found out the price.

 

Personally, Noah thought what he managed to suss out for them was an excellent deal. He was definitely going to owe Peter forever for this. Of course he’d already been halfway there, but he’d pay any price for Stiles. Even when his son was being an incorrigible little shit.

 

They were all each other had in the world.

 

With that thought firmly in his mind, Noah forced himself to leave the safety of the observation room. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest that Noah was half-convinced he was finally going to have that heart attack Stiles was always hounding him about. He didn’t let himself pause until he was in the room with Stiles, setting down his son’s things on the table so he could unlock the cuffs holding his thin wrists in place.

 

“I’ve got your stuff. Let’s go.”

 

“Dad…” Stiles started, lip sticking out a bit as his son prepared to make the latest in his line of increasingly bullshit-filled excuses.

 

He wasn’t going to hear it now. Noah had already wasted way too much time listening to it. Maybe if he hadn’t been so understanding of all of Stiles crap before this then they wouldn’t be here now.

 

“Don’t even start with me, kid,” Noah fumed.  “I don’t want to hear whatever lie you’ve cooked up this time to explain _kidnapping two people and holding them in a stolen police transport van_.”

 

“But the twins…”

 

“Don’t interrupt me!” Noah continued, his patience long-since gone. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to get you out of this with only community service?”

 

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Stiles apologized, staring down at where Noah’s hands were still cradling his recently freed wrist.

 

He jerked back, picking up the evidence bag filled with Stiles wallet, cell phone, a half-gone packet of Juicy Fruit, and the weirdly decorative knife Noah was not giving back to him. The forlorn look in Stiles eyes was tugging too much at his heart-strings, and Noah knew he was going to need some degree of separation to get through this conversation.

 

“Sorry’s not good enough. This is it, kid. This is your last chance. Do you understand that?”

 

The guilt flared again in his kid’s eyes, but so did the fire that Noah knew was about to bite him in the ass. It was too bad, on both their sides. He didn’t care how much Stiles fought him - and he was definitely going to be fighting this - Noah was not letting his kid get into this kind of trouble _ever again_.

 

“I.. what does that mean?” he asked cautiously. He was trying to put on a brave face, but it was obvious to Noah just how nervous he really was. Stiles never sat still otherwise.

 

“It means that when we leave here, you and I are going home to pack up the condo, and that when school starts back next Monday you are starting Beacon Hills High School. Peter’s arranged for me to start as Beacon County’s new Sheriff,” Noah told Stiles.

 

His whole face dropped, already pale face going white with shock. Stiles mouth was moving like he was screaming at him, but no sound was coming out.

 

“We can’t do that!” Stiles yelled, his voice coming back about two octaves higher than normal.  “Dad, I’m so sorry, but we can work something out. I can’t leave Manhattan, not now.”

 

Noah had never been so tempted to strangle his own child. Stiles was so damned stubborn, and so very much like his mother when he got this way that Noah could feel his heart breaking. He had to stand firm in the face of it regardless. He didn’t want to leave Manhattan any more than Stiles did, but this was what was best for their family. He couldn’t lose Stiles, not more than he already had.

 

“You can’t huh? Well it’s a good thing you don’t actually have a choice. You’re 16 Mieczyslaw, and you don’t get a say in this. We’re moving to the suburbs,” Noah laid down the law. He even used Stiles's real name so he'd get just how much trouble he was really in.

 

“We’re supposed to be a team, and 16 is almost an adult! I sure as hell take care of us enough that it should count!” Stiles yelled back, the guilt that had been covering his face like a mask fading away as he got increasingly angry.

 

It was tough shit. Noah was getting more pissed too. He’d called in every favor he was owned after almost 30 years in the NYPD, and he’d still barely managed this miracle. The twin’s guardian Deucalion was a tough, no-nonsense kind of man with deep pockets and ties to some powerful people, and he had been pushing to make Stiles pay for his actions just as hard as Noah had been to keep his kid safe.

 

“You just barely avoided _jail time_ , Stiles,” Noah snapped. They weren’t going to keep fighting about this. They had too much to get done before his new job and Stiles’s new school started Monday morning. “Do you have any idea what would happen to you, a cops kid, in juvie? You’d be lucky to make it out alive. So you are going to exactly what I say from here on out, and I get to keep my only son. No arguments.”

 

“Dad,” Stiles tried again, mirroring the start of their argument. He was even subdued again, eyes filling with tears. “Please don’t do this. Don’t make me leave New York and all my friends. I promise things will change.”

 

“Hell yeah things are changing. This isn’t a debate. We are moving to Beacon Hills.”


	2. Welcome to Beacon Hills

Stiles may have been unpacking all his earthly belongings in this room, but he wasn’t about to accept this place as his new home. His father could push all he wanted - Stiles was not giving into this tyranny. He hadn’t fully figured out his plan to get back to Manhattan, but Stiles wasn’t going to let little details like the stop him.

 

He absolutely despised Beacon Hills, and, as much as his dad argue otherwise, it was a well-informed decision. He’d been to this shithole town several times, especially in months right after his mother’s death. Despite the two hour travel time between Manhattan and Beacon Hills, his dad still considered his old college roommate his closest friend, and so Stiles had been forced to make the trip too many times to count.

 

In the past he hadn’t minded, even if the town had given him several nightmares of orange trophy wives. Anything that made his dad happy could be handled in small doses.

 

That sentiment did not apply to a permanent relocation. There wasn't anything that could make this place permanently bearable.

 

His dad’s friend Peter was alright most of the time, but the rest of the town was the absolute worst. Beacon Hills was a stepford-filled horror show. It was filled with perfectly manicured lawns backed by massive mansions that housed perfect little families with a mom, dad, 2.5 kids, and an age and allergy appropriate pet. The town perfectly matched the all-American small town image.

 

He still didn’t know how the Stilinski's ended up living here. He and his dad were definitely not perfect enough for this town. One minute Stiles had been living his dream in Manhattan - otherwise known as the greatest place on Earth - enjoying life in the city, hanging out with his friends, and helping his pack navigate the wild world of New York City’s supernatural scene. Now Stiles was stuck in the burbs because a slight supernatural misunderstanding ended up with him in handcuffs.

 

His dad should have just let him get killed in juvie. It would’ve been more merciful.

 

The only thing that didn’t completely suck was the new house his dad had found. The new place was massive compared to the condo he and his dad shared in the city, and the yard was kind of incredible. The house was right across the street from the woods surrounding Beacon Hills, something he could begrudgingly admit Scott and Liam were going to love when they visited. They’d be able to indulge their wolves way more here than they could in Central Park.

 

Still, he’d rather live without these so called perks. He loved the tiny little condo he was raised in. It was right across the hallway from the McCalls, and it held memories of his mom that couldn’t be replaced with more space and a view of some tree. Stiles had been sure a dozen different times as they’d packed up his dad was going to call the whole thing off as he took away the bits of Claudia Stilinski that’d made the condo theirs.

 

Even without considering how little of Claudia’s touch was going to be in the new house, their new "home" still had a single, major flaw. Stiles knew who exactly was in the yard he’d have to go through to get to the kickass woods.

 

They had been able to moved so quickly because Peter’s sister and her family lived across the street, and they’d helped his dad close on the house. Apparently the jerks had claimed it was their “civic duty” to help the new sheriff settle in. Or, more likely, they wanted some leeway on the inevitable speeding tickets the Camaro in the driveway was sure to rack up.

 

Stiles was already dreading all the forced Stilinski-Hale bonding time he was about to be suckered into, especially since he knew Peter’s sister had multiple kids around his age.

 

He hadn’t seen them since his mom’s funeral, but Stiles was sure that wasn’t going to save him from enforced bonding time with the Hale’s kids, no matter how much Stiles didn’t want to make friends with them. It’s not even like they really knew each other. Stiles couldn’t even remember their names.

 

He needed to be home with his pack instead- Scott, Kira, and even Liam. His dad hadn’t even let him talk to Scott directly since his arrest. He was forced to tell his best friend and alpha he was leaving by passing messages to through their parents. Messages that were severely lacking since neither his dad or Scott’s mom knew anything about the supernatural.

 

Even if the Hales were the coolest people he’d ever met - or smokin’ hot as their genetics suggested through Peter and his daughter freakishly attractive daughter Malia - he refused to make nice with them. Stiles’s dad may have had the power to move them to Beacon Hills, but he couldn’t make Stiles integrate with the locals.

 

He was going to have to completely isolated himself and let his dad see how miserable the suburbs made him, and Stiles wasn’t going to let a pretty face or two ruin his plan. A case of (potentially) faked depression could get him back to Manhattan before the spring semester started.

 

It was going to suck, but Stiles didn’t have a choice. The pack needed him.

 

Scott was still adjusting to the whole werewolf thing, especially now that he was a True Alpha and had Liam to teach too. Their ickle freshman had barely even experienced a full moon, and he was definitely still struggling with his anchor. Stiles loved Scott - he was his bro every way but genetically - but he’d barely gotten his own anchor under control. How was he supposed to get Liam there too?

 

Kira was still working on getting her first tail to manifest too, forcing them even further into the supernatural to find her some guidance. It’s not like her parents were any help, so she needed Stiles there to figure things out for her.

 

The separation was sure to be hell on him as well. He was still struggling to train himself as an emissary since the other ones he’d met weren’t actually helpful. There was too much of a focus on keeping secrets for him to get anything useful out of most magic users he’d met, not that he could afford to let that get in his way.

 

At least not until they got the Alpha Pack to back off. They had an already-competent emissary he had to go up against, and it was going to be hard without the resources in New York City.

 

Even with all the issues Manhattan held for him, it was still where his life - his pack - was. Stiles loved it. He didn’t know how or when it was going to happen, but he was moving back to New York City. It didn’t matter what it took.

 

Maybe he could _actually_ join a gang... His dad already assumed he was in one, and he was sure Scott could get him out of it once he got home. Few people were either brave or stupid enough to go against an alpha werewolf, and flashing red eyes, fangs, and superstrength were scary even if you didn’t know what caused it.

 

“C’mon Stiles,” his dad called from down the stairs, pulling Stiles out of the rather hilarious image he was enjoying of Scott vs. gangbangers fighting for his honor. “The Hales invited us to dinner. Their two youngest, Derek and Cora, go to your school. Don’t you want to see them again before you start tomorrow?”

 

Stiles dropped to his bed theatrically. He knew no one could see what he was doing to appreciate the move, but there was no way his dad wouldn’t recognize the thump after living with him for 16 years.

 

“What I want is to go home. You can make me move - _apparently_ \- but you can’t make me buddy up with Peter’s relatives.”

 

His dad sighed deeply at the bottom of the stairs before slowly shuffling upwards. The jerk was trying to use Stiles’s own moves against him.

 

The joke was on him though. His dad may have been a talented man, but his guilt-tripping abilities were sorely lacking compared to his son. Stiles’s Babcia had made sure of it.

 

A head poked into the room, his father’s right eyebrow raising judgmentally as he realized that Stiles had only unpacked two boxes since he’d been shut up in the room. The one he was refusing to call his bedroom, as he already had one of those in their real home.

 

“Seriously, kid? I know you’re not happy about being here, but implementing a slow down and refusing to socialize isn’t going to make this easier for you.”

 

Stiles sniffed delicately before replying. “I don’t see why not. It got the nurses at Melissa’s hospital last year a 7% raise.”

 

His dad heaved another heavy sighed, his particular dad sigh that just screamed ‘Where the hell did I go wrong?’ Stiles had heard it at least once a day since werewolves became a real thing, but it still hurt.

 

If his dad cared to ask to just Stiles his questions out loud, he could have pinpointed it to a week ago when his father completely ruined both of their lives.

 

Or maybe, if he thought it’d get them home, Stiles would remind his father about the night the NYPD found half a woman’s body in Central Park, and his dad just happened to leave his police-issued radio in the living room for father-son movie night. There were a lot of things Stiles could say about that night his dad hadn’t heard, but he had a feeling that being honest at this point was only going to make his dad more determined to keep him away from the city.

 

Besides, there were reasons Noah Stilinski hadn’t been clued in already. Stiles had already been introduced to what happened when the NYPD tried to interfere in supernatural matters, and it wasn’t pretty.

 

“Stiles, help me out,” his dad said, taking a seat beside him on the bed. He placed a hand on his shin, comforting and suffocating all at once. “I know you aren’t happy about this, but things aren’t going to get any better if you stay in your room and pout. The Hales are nice people, and I’m sure their kids are great too. Plus, Peter said he’d try to stop by after the Town Hall Meeting, and I know you love hanging out with Peter. No one else can keep up with all the snark, not even me.”

 

Stiles relented a bit to his dad’s obvious plead, sitting up and tucking himself under his dad’s arm. He didn’t even mind how tightly his dad gripped him back. As upset as he was, Stiles couldn’t make himself spurn of the offered comfort. Life in Beacon Hills was sure to suck, and the only person he’d have was his dad. He could protest everything else.

 

“Scott and Kira can too,” disagreed Stiles.

 

His dad laughed, deeply from his chest like Stiles hadn’t heard since before his arrest. He could feel his chest shaking from where Stiles was still tucked under his arm. He tried to resist, but his dad’s laughter was one of Stiles’s favorite things in the whole world.

 

At least there was at least one thing the suburbs couldn’t ruin.

 

“Dad…” he whined. “It’s not funny!”

 

In spite of his word, Stiles couldn’t help but let a few chuckles through his sealed lips. It was the first time he’d laughed since the move, and something about the action - despite how shitty he still felt - loosened the the knot in his chest a small amount.

 

Not enough though, especially not now that he was thinking about Scott again. He missed his best friend and alpha more than he’d thought possible. He hadn’t felt this shitty since his mom died.

 

“Please come with me tonight, kiddo. I know you are determined to hate it here, but one night won’t kill you.”

 

“It might,” Stiles protested. He couldn’t play nice with the Hales if he wanted to get out this town.

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

His entire defense strategy against the suburbs may need to be reworked. Noah Stilinski was some sort of magic user. It was the only possible explanation for how Stiles had ended up at the Hale’s for dinner.

 

Maybe his dad was a warlock? He didn’t have the right disposition to be a druid, darach, or a Wiccan. Stiles already paid Satomi to have his dad tested to see if the Spark thing came from his dad’s side or his mom’s, and his dad had come up empty. His Babcia on the other hand...

 

His dad better not be a warlock. Stiles’s plan to get back to New York would fail, and he’d have to hate his dad for not sharing the tricks of the trade.

 

“Hello Stilinskis! We’re so excited to have you in Beacon Hills,” Talia Hale greeted, ignoring his cringe at her enthusiasm as she pulled them both inside.

 

Stiles was practically frogmarched through the foyer as Mrs. Hale gripped his hands tightly. It’d been four years since he’d seen her, and somehow in that time he managed to forget both how strong and scary she could be. Considering all some of the supernaturals he’d met, it was impressive.

 

“It’s so good to see you both, especially with you two joining us in Beacon Hills! Stiles, why don’t you go join the girls in the basement while your dad catches up with us adults. Derek’s busy with his homework, but you can meet him at dinner,” Talia gushed, hugging him tight enough to aggravate the bruises Aiden left on his ribs before shoving him towards an opened door leading downstairs.

 

Stiles desperately wanted to run back out of the house, but he didn’t think he could make it past Mrs. Hale. Plus, his dad would be even more upset at him. So instead of escaping like he so desperately wanted, Stiles forced himself down the stairs. Even dragging his feet, he still made it to a second door at the bottom far too quickly for his comfort.

 

He just had to go through it now. Fuck, Stiles didn’t want to meet Peter’s nieces.

 

They were probably too attractive to hang out with someone like Stiles if they had even a 1/100th of the hotness genes from the generation before them, and if their personalities matched the rest of this town Stiles wouldn't want to be around them anyways. Even if they actually cool, normal human beings the best alternative would be them actually trying to be friends with him.

 

That would be horrible, he thought with a shudder. Stiles couldn’t make new friends in Beacon Hills. He’d rather be hit by the subway or taken down by muggers than acclimate to the ‘burbs, just like any self-respecting New Yorker.

 

“Are you just going to stand there?” A (beautiful - sometimes Stiles hated being right) girl around his age laughed as he flailed forward, trying and failing to keep his balance as the basement door he’d been leaning against slung open. He thought that thing swung out, not in. “Wow. You must be Stiles. Peter really wasn’t kidding about you, was he?”

 

“Ow…” Stiles groaned pitifully from the ground. He let his head thump against the wooden planks. It had alright hit once, so Stiles figured at this point he was too late on the brain damage front. He’d warned his dad that Suburbia was going to kill him.

 

“Cora, leave him alone and get back in here. You’re gonna miss it!” another feminine voice laughed at him from large leather couch. Stiles couldn’t see anything of her other than the soft-looking ponytail that matched her sister’s. She was probably stupid beautiful too.

 

“Coming,” the girl - Cora, apparently - said, pulling Stiles up and with her to the sofa.

 

He would have fought it if he wasn’t still in shock. He didn’t want to sit on the stupid fancy leather sofa with the stupidly beautiful Hales. Stiles wanted to stand awkwardly in the corner to protest.

 

“Miss what?” Stiles asked as he was forced into the middle cushion between Cora and the other model-like sister. He probably didn’t want to know.

 

Cora and her sister - Lucy? Lyla? Lauren?, it was something with an L - both leaned into his shoulder.

 

“Inigo Montoya is about to confront the six-fingered man. Now you can shut up on your own new kid, or I’ll make you,” L-something threatened fiercely, eyes never leaving the screen.

 

Despite his best efforts, L’s excitement was spreading. Kira’s love for 80s rom-coms - The Princess Bride included - may have started as a massive joke in their pack, but somehow she’d sucked them all in.

 

Stiles may have helped. He'd been helpless to resist after Dirty Dancing.

 

“Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die,” quoted the two sisters, giggling at each other as the spoke.

 

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from joining in with there laughter, and they both saw straight through his attempts to stifle it. Seriously though, how could he resist? The Hales were cheating using The Princess Bride against him.

 

They were definitely related to Peter.

 

“Fezzik! I need you!” Stiles shouted with them, drowning out Inigo.

 

“You’ve got good taste, new kid,” L-something cheered, leaning into his side to high-five her sister. It was impressive they managed it without either taking their eyes away from the screen.

 

“Oh, be nice to him," Cora mimicked her sister, sneering. "You know his name.”

 

Stiles sniffed, channeling as much haughty indifference as he could in his voice. “Yeah, L-something. Be nice to the new kid. I’m delicate.”

 

Cora and Laura burst out in laughter at his words, and Stiles didn’t bother to keep himself from joining in. He didn’t think he’d laughed once since he was arrested last week. Stiles didn’t realize how much he’d missed it.

 

“Oh… I like you, Stiles. Let’s keep him, _Laura_ ,” Cora decided for them, emphasizing her sister’s name with another giggle.

 

And shit… Stiles liked them too. He may be in some serious trouble.

 

_________________________________

 

“Kids, time for dinner,” Talia Hale called down the stairs.

 

The announcement couldn’t come soon enough. Cora and Laura Hale looked like they were seconds away from coming to blows about what they should watch next. Cora really wanted to watch The Goonies, and Laura really thought the Goonies sucked. Secretly, Stiles agreed with Cora, but he had way to much common sense to get between those two.

 

“Coming!” They called in unison, trampling up the stairs before Stiles even managed to extract himself from their ridiculously comfortable sofa.

 

Stiles scrambled to follow them, taking stairs two a time to catch up, but it was no use. They were already out of sight. He pushed himself a little harder. Unfortunately, that lead him running almost full speed into a wall of solid muscle.

 

“Jesus Peter, creep much?” Stiles grumbled, trying to wiggle out of the way to familiar grip on his waist. It may have saved him from falling back down the stairs, but hold felt uncomfortably right coming from his father’s closest friend.

 

“Not Peter,” the muscles chuckled, releasing his hold on Stiles. He had the sudden, extreme desire to pull the arm back around him. The face attached the (incredibly chiseled feeling) wall of muscles. “I’m his nephew, Derek.”

 

Stiles had the sudden feeling that this wasn’t real. _This_ was Derek Hale? Didn’t Peter always claim his nephew was an awkward, antisocial jock-type who refused to use his brain? Stiles couldn’t say anything about Derek’s mental capabilities, but he still knew Peter’s description was sorely lacking. Between his soulful eyes, perfect physique, and bunny-toothed yet charming smile, Derek Hale was the most attractive man Stiles had ever met, and he and Kira had shared a cab with _Ryan Gosling_ last Halloween.

 

“Stiles… I mean, I’m Stiles. Stiles Stillinksi, which is a nickname, obviously, but you don’t even want to try my first name. It’s Polish, and even I can barely pronounce it,” Stiles rambled.

 

He couldn’t stop the word vomit. Oh god, Stiles had never wished so much for an emergency. Stiles desperately needed something to make him shut up.

 

“Right then… _Stiles_ … You going to get out of my way?” Derek asked him, smirking haughtily yet not unkindly in a way Stiles was failing not to find sexy.

 

Nodding his head in what he hoped was an aloof tilt instead of a spastic twitch, Stiles stepped back towards the staircase to give Derek room to get around him. He was so busy checking to see if Derek’s shirt covered his butt that he almost missed the flash of electric blue in the mirror Derek was facing. Being part of a pack taught him to pay attention when lights flash though, and Stiles couldn’t be more grateful for it.

 

Derek Hale was a werewolf, and if his eyes were blue then he had killed an innocent person. Stiles knew this move was going to be the death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing in the Team Wolf fandom. Please let me know what you think!


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